


The Shared Language of Kindred Spirits

by MamzelleCombeferre



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-21
Updated: 2018-06-21
Packaged: 2019-05-26 07:04:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14995445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MamzelleCombeferre/pseuds/MamzelleCombeferre
Summary: Of everyone in the group, she knows, perhaps, the least about the wizard. So, the fact that he speaks the same language as her in more ways than one is surprising to say the least.Around their campfire for the evening, Yasha and Caleb have a quiet moment.





	The Shared Language of Kindred Spirits

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Critical Role Relationships Week! Almost didn't get this done today, but I'm really pleased with how this has turned out. Hope you enjoy!

With nothing to break up their line of sight, the darkness around them feels more pressing, enveloping around them without a barrier. Yasha sits next to the fire as she keeps watch over the plain they’ve camped in that night. The air is damp and cool, sticking to her like a cold sweat, and the small flame does little to abate the chill. Still, she rubs her hands together, holding them palms out in an attempt to warm them anyways. She repeats the process, this time blowing on them as well. 

Her hands are always cold, chill and a little clammy. They are bit disgusting if she is honest, though when she self-consciously rubs them against her clothing, Molly always says, “Cold hands, warm heart,” with a grin that she feels reflected back by her own face. The tiefling sleeps across the way now, curled tightly round his coat and swords. She studies him for a moment, slightly envious of the infernal bloodline that keeps him and Jester from getting cold. She has to laugh noticing how close he and Beau have inched, almost spooning in the grass. 

When the cat appears suddenly on her lap, she is not expecting it and startles, nearly tossing Frumpkin into the flames before her brain can catch up. She jumps again when Caleb’s voice, soft and thickly accented, comes out of the darkness to her left. She had not realized the wizard was up, or that anyone else was awake. 

Caleb clears his throat, sitting on the log next to hers, and says, “Sorry, I did not mean to startle you.” The books, normally placed in the holsters on his sides (one’s he must have had specially made for she had never seen anything like them in all the places she had visited), are sat on his lap. “You looked cold, and you seemed to like Frumpkin before-“ He cuts off suddenly, features twisting into uncertainty.

If Yasha had a silver pieces for every time she felt her own features twist into the same, she would be a much richer woman. “It is fine Caleb. I- I appreciate it. Thank you.” She rubs one hand along Frumpkin’s back, using the other to scratch behind the cat’s ears. The wizard is a kindred spirit, with the same lack of social graces she suffers from. Still, she does not like to make others uncomfortable, at least those who do not deserve it. 

Unsure of how to continue, for a long moment the only sound is that of the fire crackling as hot embers meet cool air. The breeze picks up for a moment, ruffling Yasha’s hair. Frumpkin purrs contentedly. 

The silence is broken by another throat clear, as Caleb speaks once more. “I-uh-I did not get to thank you for the shave the other day.” He pauses, then continues awkwardly, this time in Celestial. “So, thank you.” 

At the sound of the bell-like melodic language, a blossoming of warmth settles in her chest, like something made truly right. Like coming home. She answers back in the same, “It was nothing.” The warmth is pierced by a small shard of anxiety.

Caleb chuckles softly, looking down at his lap now. He cards his fingers through the pages of the book, never stopping, and upon reaching the end, goes back to do the same again. It makes a soft fluttering noise, like a bird’s wings. With a bit more confidence this time, and with an earnesty that catches her attention, he says, “It was not nothing. Thank you, truly.” 

And Yasha, as is so often the case, does not know what to say to that, though Caleb does not seem to mind. In fact, he looks almost relieved that she does not press, finally stopping on a page to study. Frumpkin remains purring on her lap, and with a soft smile she finds her hands are not so chilled now.

Of everyone in the group, she knows, perhaps, the least about the wizard. Dirty on purpose, always folded in on himself, bookish and magically gifted. In so many ways he is her exact opposite, she who cannot hide no matter how much she would like to and more comfortable with a weapon than with any sort of arcana. So, the fact that he speaks the same language as her in more ways than one is surprising to say the least.

The silence is not so awkward after that. In fact, it’s almost comfortable.


End file.
